


Pain of the Past

by worthlesspancakes



Category: Barbie as The Princess and the Pauper (2004)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Light Angst, interesting story, please read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14606988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worthlesspancakes/pseuds/worthlesspancakes





	1. Chapter 1

Preminger was only 8 years old and already he knew the unrelenting toils of labor. He knew how it felt to stand for hours beneath the beating sun, knee deep in filth and swaddled in the stench of the farm. Exhaustion to him was like a living breathing companion with whom he met each morning and shouldered the weight of through the day. Before he could stand he knew the company of starvation. Before he could speak he had felt the sting of death and at 8 years old, he carried half of the labor on his father's farm.

"One day, Preminger," His father would say to him on the nights he had the energy to speak. "You will leave this farm."

"I don't want to leave the farm." Preminger would say, innocence sparkling in his honey colored eyes. "Who would help you care for it?"

His father would chuckle softly beneath his breath and take Preminger into his arms, his large, calloused hands ruffling the boy's platinum hair. "You wont need to worry about me or the farm, my son. We will be far away from this place."

"Will we have a castle, father?"

His father smiled, watery blue eyes reflecting the lonely candle flame on the table. "We will have whatever you want! We will live in a castle and we will have servants and cooks and we will eat dessert before dinner whenever you'd like!"

Preminger would laugh and his father would listen as though that were the single greatest sound his ears had heard. Then his face would grow solemn and he would look into Preminger's eyes and speak with such surety, there was no doubt in Preminger's mind that what he was hearing was the truth.

"You're going to rule this land one day, Preminger. They'll try and stop you; the whole world will push against you, but you stand your ground and you climb to the very top."

These words filled every crevice of the young boys mind and in them, he found strength. Life had not come easy to him, but he faced each day with a smile.

That is until the winter of his 10th year.

That was the year he stopped smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

Winter came like a thief in the night. It stole the warmth from the ground and the sun from the air and settled the land in a blanket of gray. Ice killed off the crops and animals perished from both starvation and the cold. In less than a week, the nation was in crisis.

What food was left was rationed by the monarchy and by way of nature, the peasants found themselves battling starvation like never before.

On one night when the wind was particularly loud and the air particularly brittle, Preminger sat huddled in blankets by the fire side while his father paced about the room, always returning to the window where he looked onward in distain.

"The crop," he muttered to himself again and again. "We'll die without the crop."

Preminger watched his father with quiet eyes, fear slowly twisting at the strings of his heart. He did not fully understand the dire situation, the horrendous political situation that had left him and his father scrapping at the bottom of the chain, but he saw his fathers distress and that made him afraid. His father was a steady man, hard working and optimistic. He never bowed to fate but rather shaped his own future and for that, Preminger admired him. However, inevitably, there were some things beyond his control and this appeared to be one of those things.

"Father," Preminger spoke after he could watch his father pace no longer. "Sit by the fire, you'll catch the cold."

His father gave him a gentle smile though his eyes were clouded with worry. Still, he joined his son on the ground before the hearth.

"We'll get out of this." He said, and there was strength in his weak voice. "The king will come to his senses, he'll give us what is due."

"Why hasn't he yet?"

His father sighed, running an exasperated hand through his peppered hair. "Well, thats just the way it is. The monarchy, the rich, they don't care about us because they don't understand us. Like stick with like and so they support each other. We're just collateral damage."

Preminger was quiet as he thought about this. His small brow furrowed in concentration — this new concept troubled him.

"But father, what makes us different than them? We all need food, don't we? What makes us different?"

His father looked at him sadly, watching before him as the world robbed the innocence of life from his only son. "I don't know, Preminger. I wish I could answer you. People are strange and they can be cruel." He paused to cough and then, seeing the contorted expression on the boy's face, he put on a smile.

"It wont always be like this. You are destined for greatness, Preminger. I look at you and I see so much more than a peasants son. You are smart, you're resourceful, and you have a compassionate heart. That is rare in this world, and so remember this: don't let the hardships of life take that away from you. They will try, but you have to be better than them, for all of our sakes."

"How?" Preminger asked. Now faced with this dark reality, the great future his father had long reminded him of seemed impossibly bleak. "How can one person change that?"

"You have heart," his father assured him. "You have passion, and that will carry you far past the boundaries of logic and reason." He coughed again; there was a heaviness settling on his chest and a pain tugging at his gut. Dismissing it, he reached forward and grabbed Preminger's shoulder.

"You can do it, Preminger. But don't do it alone. Don't underestimate the value of having those you can trust. And never forget, I am always here with you."

Preminger's eyes grew and the fire danced in his iris's. His father ruffled his hair and stood, picking the boy up along with his nest of blankets. Together they made their way up stairs. For the fourth time that week, it escaped Preminger's notice that his father had not eaten.


	3. Chapter 3

The events after his father's death passed by for Preminger in a haze. The sympathetic glances, the funeral, the fresh grave resting on the hilltop; such things hung over the young boy like a dream. His father had gone quietly in his sleep, the cold and the hunger catching up to him in his old age. 

Each morning Preminger sat on the hill by his fathers grave, listening to the cry of the winds in the treetops and letting the bitter air turn his skin red. The world had lost its vibrancy now that this beautiful soul had parted. The snow had since left since his fathers death like nature was allowing for the time of mourning. The soil had softened for burial and the crows had returned to the field to guard the grave with somber eyes. Preminger was a shadow on the hill, present each morning with the dawn and each night at dusk. He became like a ghost without his father. 

Soon the world fell back into its usual rhythm. The snow came, the food grew scarce, and eventually the question of Preminger's future became local gossip. Now alone on the farm and without family to claim him, the boy had been staying with a local family. He stayed quiet most days, locked away in the small spare room he'd ben given. He knew he wouldn't stay long. In a week or so after the worst of the storm had passed, a carriage would come in from the city and take him away to an orphanage far from here. 

Despite the horrid dose of reality he received every time he looked upon his fathers grave, he spent each morning visiting the hill, never knowing when the day would come that he'd be taken from him forever. 

In early spring, the day arrived. A medium sized, horse drawn carriage came with the dawn and quietly it rounded up the supplies that were to be taken to the city. Preminger went with it. He sat in the back beside a bundle of firewood, closing his eyes and listening to the melody of the wheels against the frozen ground. 

It was a four day journey to the city and a four day wait before his life changed forever. He had never left that quiet little town in the valley, never left the shelter of his fathers wings. But his father was gone now and that place was nothing more to him than a ghost town; sad old homes filled with gaunt faces and pitying eyes. He shut his minds eye to it, feeling as that chapter of his life came to a stark close. 

Preminger rode into the sunrise, carrying with him only one keepsake — the words of his father, more precious to him than gold.

You're going to rule this land one day, Preminger. They'll try and stop you; the whole world will push against you, but you stand your ground and you climb to the very top.

And never forget, I am always here with you.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride into town was long and bumpy but the closer they drew to the ocean, the warmer and fresher the air seemed to grow. Eventually, the lavish new scenery was enough to pull Preminger from his brooding state and to the side of the wagon which he leaned across, watching with wide eyes as this new world passed him by. He had never seen the ocean and he had not once in his 10 years been to the city. 

The tall buildings packed side by side and the paved roads and the streets bustling with activity despite the chill in the air — it was all rather magnificent to him. In the distance he could see the silhouette of the castle of the royal family, looming above the rooftops like a watchful giant. He looked up at it and swallowed, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. 

Finally they reached the orphanage. It was on the poorer end of town and was presented as a shabby old building in need of funding. There were many windows which suggested it was poorly ventilated and stuffy in the summer, and of course, drafty in the winter. It was perhaps 3 floors tall and sat at the corner of the road, its only neighbors the markets that were unpopulated at this time of year.

"Get up" the officer who had transported him commanded. His voice was low and gruff and he wore a scowl across his scarred face. Preminger was quick to oblige. 

Hastily they made their way over to the building and with a heavy fist, the officer pounded on the old door. The wood trembled against the sudden force and Preminger feared it would give in. It was only a moment before the door was pulled open and standing in its frame was a young woman. 

She was slender and with dark skin, the curve of her lips rested in a melancholy smile. A tattered dress covered her thin frame and a woolen shawl was draped across her shoulders. She was humble in appearance, but Preminger thought her beautiful. 

"The rascal from the valley" the officer explained to her, reaching into his massive pockets and withdrawing a thin stack of sloppily folded papers. He held them out to her. "This should cover everything." 

Carefully she took the papers from his massive paws and unfolded them, her expression twinging in sympathy as she skimmed over the content. Preminger blushed. The officer took no notice. 

"Right then, there should be nothing left to settle. Unless I need 'ta sign him off or something?" 

"No, sir" The woman replied, eyes still resting on the documents. "He's all covered." 

The officer nodded curtly and then turned back to the wagon upon which he had arrived. In moments, he had disappeared back into the city. 

" 'Nother mouth to feed," the woman in the door frame said with a sigh, folding the papers and slipping them into her dress pocket. "God help us." Then, taking closer note of the young boy standing before her, "You poor thing must be freezin. Come on in, we'll get you settled."

She extended a hand to him and he gingerly took it, allowing her to lead him inside; her palms were calloused but her touch was soft. Preminger took notice of the subtle limp in her stride. 

"Here" she said as they paused before a sunlight filled room. "Wait while I go get the master of the house." 

Preminger watched her until she was out of sight. Then, quietly, he made his way to the corner of the room and sat by the window. There were a few children in the room with him, a pair of boys playing in the opposite corner and a group of little girls playing dress up with rag dolls. They all had in common the pitiful look of starving urchins. 

Preminger let out a breath and closed his eyes, leaning back in the old wooden chair and watching the sunlight dance across the back of his eyelids. In his mind he was back on the farm, breathing in the clean country air, his father beside him, and nothing above them but the open sky.


End file.
